


Alone

by youre_a_wizard_sammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Cutting, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Physical Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Self Harm, Suicide contemplation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youre_a_wizard_sammy/pseuds/youre_a_wizard_sammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay well this started off as a short fic based off of the clip in ep 5x16 Flagstaff where Sam lives on his own for two weeks. This is meant to be if Sam was gone for much, much longer. However, it has become longer than I expected and went in a direction that I had not initially intended, so I've been hesitant to post it. But I'm just gonna go with it and we'll see how things go. </p>
<p>It is broken up with dates sort of like journal entries, except not from a first person pov so it isn't journal entries. It's like you're checking up on Dean every so often I guess. I think I'm gonna make each one a new chapter? But they are short and there are quite a few.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March 16, 1998

March 16, 1998  
When John got back to the motel room, Dean was frantically pacing back and forth, wiping tears from his face, and calling Sam's cell phone over and over.   
“Dean, what the hell is going on?”  
Dean's head shot up abruptly at his father's blunt question. Their eyes met, and Dean let out a shallow, ragged breath.  
“Sam and I were at the diner.” His voice was coming out shaky and panicked. “I went to the bathroom and when I came back, he was gone. I've looked all over and called him a thousand times, I don't know where he is.”  
Dean had been hunting monsters, ghosts, demons, and witches with his father for about 10 years now. He had beheaded vampires, he'd been in hand to hand combat with werewolves, he'd been thrown across rooms by ghosts, he'd been shot at by police officers. But nothing in Dean's 19 years had ever scared him as much as the look in his father's eyes at that moment.  
John came barreling towards Dean, stopping when he was in reaching distance and grabbing Dean's arm, hard. “What do you mean you don't know where he is? Dean, Sam is your responsibility! I trust you to watch out for him, he's just a kid!”  
Dean was breathing hard and his heart was pounding, “Dad, I know! I'm sorry, I'm trying to find him! I'm freakin' out!” John shoved Dean backwards, walking away angrily, and began pacing, running has hands over his face. Dean could see the veins in his neck straining against his skin.  
“I can't believe you let this happen! What if those vamps got him, Dean? Huh? I'm not gonna lose anyone else!”  
“I went to the fucking bathroom, Dad! He's not a baby, I shouldn't have to watch him every goddamn second! I didn't loose him, okay, obviously he left on his own!”  
“Left?! Where the fuck would he go, Dean?!”  
“I don't know, probably anywhere away from YOU!”   
With that, John's fist landed hard against the side of Dean's face, knocking his head to the side.


	2. April 9, 1998

April 9, 1998  
The past 3 weeks have been brutal. Dean's heard nothing from Sam and little from John. John goes out looking for him and is gone for a few days at a time, coming back for a night and leaving early the next morning. Dean hates being alone, but being around his dad is hell.   
Dean doesn't even know what to do with himself. Is Sam alive or dead? He didn't know which was worse. Because if Sam was alive, that meant that he had chosen to leave Dean and stay gone for this long. Would he abandon me like that? How could he? When he tries to sleep, he's up half of the night. Either from worry or from dreams. He constantly has nightmares about Sam getting into trouble, getting hurt. But the opposite was far worse. He would often dream that everything was okay. That he and Sam were chilling in the motel room, or out on a hunt, just doing their normal stuff and joking around. Then he would wake up and remember it all, all over again.   
With little sleep, Dean had no energy and often spent all day dozing off in front of the tv. It was very disorienting, this erratic sleeping pattern. He would fall asleep in the evening and wake up in the night. Fall asleep in the afternoon and wake up to it still being light, not sure if he had slept an hour or a day.   
With the little cash that John would leave him, Dean spent quite a bit of it buying weed. He wasn't a stoner or anything. He had smoked a fair amount in high school, but only once or twice within the past year or so. But Dean was alone, bored, and sad all day long. Weed made the time a little more bearable, and also helped him sleep.   
So, tonight, he smoked a bowl, tuned the radio to a classic rock station, and laid down to try to sleep. But it wasn't long before he was sobbing into his pillow.


	3. May 2, 1998

May 2, 1998  
Sam would be 15 years old today. This was the first of Sam's birthdays that Dean would spend away from him, and it was the worst day that Dean had experienced so far. It was also the first time that Dean cut himself. He was sitting on the bed in boxer briefs and a tee-shirt, both wet with tears and sweat. He must have been crying for hours now. He couldn't believe how bad it hurt to have Sam gone. He went to adjust his pillow and felt his knife underneath it. When he pulled it out and began to fiddle with it, he ran the very tip of the blade against the pad of his thumb. There was quick, sharp pain and a small dot of blood. Dean examined the drop for a long time before wiping it off against his forefinger.   
The idea of cutting his skin with the blade had never really occurred to him before, but he now mulled it over, briefly pushing thoughts of Sam aside. He then pressed the blade against the top of his thigh, pausing for quite a while before swiftly dragging the blade across his skin. Dean made a small gasp at the pain; it wasn't what he was expecting. It was like a stinging, burning sensation. I mean, he'd been cut by knives before, so he knew what it felt like. But doing it yourself was different. It didn't hurt quite as bad. He actually enjoyed it a little bit. And then there was the blood. It didn't just pour out of the cut in a line as Dean had expected. Instead it came up slowly in small dots along the cut like a line in a constellation of stars. He watched the dots grow and a couple of them run down his thigh. It was as if this was the most intriguing thing that he had ever witnessed. So, he did it again.


	4. May 26, 1998

May 26, 1998  
Dean leaned back against the bar, taking a large drink from his beer and feeling a bit pleased with himself. It was the fourth time that he had come to this bar within the past month-or-so and, though he was only nineteen, nobody had bothered carding him. John was never around and Dean got so bored and depressed being alone in the motel room 24/7. So he decided that it was okay to go out and at least try to enjoy himself every once in a while.   
Of course, that didn't mean that he was doing any better. In fact, if he put his hand in his jean pocket right now he would be able to feel fresh cuts from yesterday through the thin material. Cutting had began to happen on a fairly regular basis at this point. His occasional weed purchases had also become much more frequent. That's actually what had pushed him to come to the bar in the first place: hustling pool. John only left him enough money for a few groceries, and he'd been gone for over a month now. With Dean buying weed and booze on top of food and other necessities, he had to find some way to make some cash.   
“Can I get you another?” The voice startled Dean. He looked to his right to see a tall, dark haired guy with a playful smile. He was pretty tan and had dark brown eyes. Wow. This guy was really hot. At that point Dean remembered that he should probably answer the guy's question.  
“Uh, yeah sure,” He replied, feeling a little flushed.   
The guy ordered two more beers and leaned against the bar, grinning at Dean still,“So what's your name, cutie?”  
“It's Dean,” now Dean was most definitely blushing.   
“Well, nice to meet you, Dean. I'm Tyler.”  
Tyler and Dean stayed leaning against the bar, drinking their beers and flirting for a while. Tyler lightly stroked Dean's arm for a brief moment while giving some corny compliment on his green eyes.  
Dean didn't quite know what to think of the situation. He had hooked up with guys before, but not recently. He had been so worried and depressed and just downright shitty that he had kind of forgotten that other people exist. So when one of those people started flirting with him, it really took him by surprise, especially one as attractive as Tyler. After a short period of contemplation and shyness, Dean decided to just relax and let this happen. Tyler was cute and funny and sweet, and maybe he was just what Dean needed. Maybe he could make Dean feel better, or at least get all of the bullshit off of his mind for a while.   
With that thought, Dean took a step forward, metaphorically and literally. He grabbed Tyler by the neck and kissed his lips. Tyler was slightly surprised, but it was clear that they both wanted this to happen. So they sank into each other and kissed passionately. After making out for a while, they headed to Tyler's car.  
Their hands roamed and the windows steamed, and before they new it, clothes were coming off. Dean worried for a moment about his cuts being seen, but he pushed it out of his mind. It's pretty dark and we're kinda busy. He probably won't notice.  
Whether he noticed or not, Tyler didn't say anything about the cuts. By this point he was too busy grabbing Dean's hips and thrusting into him. Dean let a loud moan escape his lips. He was right; this is exactly what he needed. Pure pleasure. But he needed more.   
“Harder,” Dean breathed, digging his nails into Tyler's lower back. And Tyler listened, but it still wasn't enough. “Harder!” he cried out. And with that, Tyler began to fuck Dean like an animal. It hurt. And that's exactly what Dean wanted. He bit into Tyler's shoulder, tasting his salty flesh and muffling his own cries.   
When Dean walked back to the motel a bit later, he felt good. He had gotten another good buzz going, he was most definitely physically satisfied, and he had finally been able to get Sammy and John off of his mind for a while. But as soon as he was in the room alone again, it all came back.


	5. June 7, 1998

April 7, 1998  
Within the past couple weeks, Dean had gone to the bar almost every night. He had seen Tyler a couple more times, along with a few other guys. They had hooked up again, but it didn't seem to bother Tyler when Dean found different guys. For that matter, it didn't bother Dean when Tyler had other hook-ups either.  
A few days ago, Tyler had taken him to another bar in the town that wasn't too far away. It wasn't technically a gay bar (are you kidding me, in a town this small?), but it was a well known hang out for the more wild boys in the town.  
They ventured there again tonight, and met up with three of Tyler's friends. After a few rounds, they piled into Tyler's car and passed around a couple joints until the car was so full of smoke that they could barely see each other.  
That night, Dean laughed so hard that he couldn't breathe. It was the first time in a long time that he could remember doing that.


	6. June 29, 1998

April 29, 1998  
Dean woke up with a raging hangover. His head felt like somebody had taken a hammer to it repeatedly. His body ached all over. His mouth was so dry that his lips cracked, and his stomach was twisting in knots. He realized that his stomach is actually what had woken him up, and he was about to get up to rush to the bathroom. But as his eyes focused, he realized that he was already there. He was sprawled out on the motel room bathroom, and there was already vomit in (and on) the toilet. This did not do any favors to his already turning stomach, and he threw up until tears burned his eyes. He then proceeded to turn the shower on and crawl into the bathtub. After drinking many handfuls of water from the faucet, he simply lay down under the spray of the warm water. As he let his muscles relax, he attempted to recall the previous night.  
He remembered going out with Tyler and his friends again. They had started at the bar, getting pretty drunk. One of Tyler's friends, Kyle, had been flirting with Dean pretty hardcore. Dean had flirted back. After all, Kyle was pretty cute. He was twenty-three (the oldest of their group) and had shaggy, dirty blonde hair.  
After the bar, they hit a liquor store and headed to Tyler's house, a place that they had begun to frequent. They mostly just got high and played video games. This time they were doing the usual, but they smoked and drank much more than usual. As the night continued and they became more and more inebriated, Tyler and his other friend (whose name Dean couldn't remember) had wandered into Tyler's bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them. Dean remembered Kyle handing him a bottle of whiskey. He also remembered Kyle's arm around him on the couch as they finished the bottle. That's the last thing that Dean fully remembers. After that, he just remembers blurry glimpses.  
Laying on the couch, an incredible amount of weight on top of him.  
Kyle's tongue in his mouth, which was then replaced with a hand, covering his mouth.  
Pain.  
Pushing against the weight that was on top of him.  
No.  
No.  
Pain.  
Trying to talk.  
Scream.  
Anything.  
No.  
No.  
Wait, then it was something different. The weight was gone. There was yelling. Then he remembers being in a car, the motion making him sick. He remembers his motel room door, and then it skips to the bathroom floor, this morning.  
Oh my god. Shit. What the fuck oh my god. Dean began to panic, and he curled into himself in the tub and cried. What the fuck am I gonna do? Why did this happen to me? Why did I let it happen? What the fuck. Should've never gone out with those guys. What the fuck was I thinking? Can't have friends. Have a good time. Can't ever get away from this bullshit. This is what I get. So fucking stupid. Doing drugs and drinking with these guys. Dean felt the world crashing around him. He grabbed the razor that was on the edge of the tub and placed it against his thigh. But then he paused. He looked at his wrist. Would it be better? Could I do it? Could I just leave all of this? End it all? He held the razor against his wrist. It just fucking hurts so much. This isn't fair. I can't deal with this. Dean felt more alone than he had ever felt in his life. He wanted Sam now more than ever. Sam. Sammy. He pictured Sam's big goofy smile. It's the only thing that had ever kept him going.  
Dean put the razor down and pulled himself out of the tub. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he took a couple pain killers and existed the bathroom, looking forward to his bed. However, he was shocked the see a figure sitting in the chair next to the bed.  
“What the fuck!?” Dean practically jumped out of his skin. But he quickly realized that it was Tyler's friend who had been hanging out with them last night, but he still couldn't for the life of him remember the guy's name. He had dark brown, messy hair, pale lips, and eyes that were way too blue.  
“Woah, whoah! It's okay, it's just me, man,” He stood up. “Are you alright?”  
Dean rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, his heart beat slowing but not back to normal yet.  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Did we fuck? Do you know what happened last night?  
“I slept here. I drove you back here last night and you were so gone, I figured I better stay. Did you not notice me sleeping in the chair when you got up?” He looked very puzzled, but Dean was much more confused.  
“What do you mean? I woke up on the fuckin' bathroom floor.”  
“You slept in there? You were in the bed last night when I fell asleep. I don't know how or when you got in there. But hey, are you doing okay? Do you remember anyth-”  
Dean cut off his inquiries, “First off, I'm sorry but you gotta tell me your name, man.”  
“Oh, damn, sorry. It's Castiel.”  
“Well no fuckin' wonder I couldn't remember it,” Dean scoffed. “So, Cas, you brought me back here last night?” He moved towards his dresser, figuring that he shouldn't stand here and talk to this guy half naked.  
“Yeah. Do you... do you remember what happened at Tylers'?  
Dean's stomach sank and he swallowed hard.  
“Yeah. Well, sort of.”  
Castiel hesitated and spoke gently, “Look, I'm so sorry. I mean, I don't know what to- When we came in the room, we didn't know what to think. You were already practically passed out. I had no idea that Kyle would- I mean. He's- I don't know. Tyler beat the shit out of him after we pulled him off-”  
“Can we not?” Dean whipped around to face Castiel. “Can we just not do this whole thing? We aren't talking about it, okay? I mean, I really appreciate everything you did and all, seriously, but I'm exhausted and hungover and starving and I just wanna forget the whole fucking night.”  
Cas looked a bit like a hurt puppy, but he didn't protest. “Okay, well… wanna get some food? I can order something if you want.”  
Dean contemplated that as he put a t-shirt on. “Yeah, sure.” He grabbed a pair of sweat pants and put them on.  
“What happened to your leg?” Cas asked, clearly referring to the assortment of cuts on Dean's right thigh. Shit.  
“Nothing. You gonna order that food? I'm fuckin' starving.”


	7. July 4, 1998

July 4, 1998

Once again, Dean found himself on the bathroom floor. He seemed to be making it into his second home. He had been crying for hours, and now he was shaky and sick and just kind of numb. 4th of July. It had always been a cool day for he and Sam. His mind kept running through the many Independence Days that they had shared, his favorite of which took place in a field in the middle of nowhere. Just he and Sam, the Impala, and cheap (illegal) fireworks. Sam's face had lit up, his eyes reflecting the bright sparks as he looked up to Dean and thanked him. Even among all of the shit in their lives, they had always still found moments like that/ It was one of Dean's happiest memories.   
And now, look where he was. Alone, on a fucking motel bathroom floor, contemplating his life like a fucking teenage girl. If only Dad could see him now. He actually had been doing an okay job of keeping John out of his mind until recently. He would be so disappointed. He leaves his son alone for a little while and how does Dean end up? Partying, cutting himself, going drugs, sleeping around, with GUYS for that matter, getting raped. He had finally admitted to himself that he was, in fact, raped. It sounded odd in his head, and made his stomach turn.   
How could he have been so stupid? He'd gotten himself into this situation; it was all his fault. He thought that he could have fun, make friends, trust people, be fucking normal for a change. But of course not. He felt so emasculated. So humiliated. So afraid. So disappointed in himself. He couldn't help but think, _I deserved it. This is the kind of life that I've been handed, and it my fault for thinking otherwise. I'm a low-life whose gonna have a shitty life until I get ganked by some ugly ass ghost or some shit. What's the point? I'm gonna be miserable for the rest of my life. I should do something about it. ___  
He took his razor and sliced his forearm open, watching the blood run down his arm and into his lap. He made a few more cuts before he started to feel hazy.  
“Dean! Dean what the fuck?!”  
He tried very hard to open his eyes, but could only flutter them, achieving a very strange picture, like an old cartoon where they flipped through each frame to make it look like it was moving. He heard a clatter and felt pressure on his arm. It hurt. Bad. He heard a cry of pain and realized that it had come from himself.   
“Dean stay with me, wake the fuck up!” He recognized Cas' voice and the panic in it terrified him. He forced his eyes open, and the look on Cas' face was even worse than his voice. “Dean, hey, Dean. Stay awake, don't leave me okay? Can you hear me?”  
Dean nodded.   
“Okay don't let go, stay awake. Here, put your hand there. Good. Hold it. No, you have to apply pressure, Dean. Keep squeezing.” Dean tried to focus on what was going on, clearly the most important of which was to squeeze his left arm with his right hand. “Hey! Keep your eyes open!” Oh yeah, that too. Then Cas was down on the floor with him, wrapping his belt around Dean's upper arm as a tourniquet and pressing a wet towel to his cuts. He hissed at the pain and had to look away. That would sure as hell wake him up, goddamn. He saw liquid on the floor that wasn't blood, and traced it back to a broken beer bottle. That's right. Cas had gone out to get beer. How long had he been gone? How had Dean gotten so bad in just that short amount of time?   
He looked over at Cas, who was gawking at him. “Dean, are you with me? What the fuck were you thinking?”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“Sorry? Jesus Christ, I feel like I'm the one who should be sorry. I thought you were doing better. Fuck, I thought you'd at least be fine for an hour by yourself.”  
Dean's face sank.  
“Shit, I didn't mean it like that, Dean. I just mean I wish you would'a told me you weren't okay.”  
“I'm sorry. Fuck, sorry, Cas this is fuckin' stupid.”  
Cas put his hand on the side of Dean's face, forcing their eyes to meet, “Hey. You're alright. That's all that matters. We gotta get this cleaned up okay? Might need stitches.”

_As it turns out, two of the cuts needed stitches. Cas tried to pull Dean to his car and take him to the emergency room, but after many protests about doctors, insurance, and suicide watch, he finally admitted defeat. He stitched Dean's arm using dental floss, Dean giving him instructions the whole time. Dean had done it for his dad a few times, but couldn't handle doing it on himself. Dean downed one of the beers in a few gulps in an attempt to numb some of the pain._

_Dean awoke yet again, but this time instead of the bathroom floor, he was slumped on the bed with his head resting on Cas' shoulder. _His head was on Cas' shoulder? That was fucking new. ____He lifted it urgently and moved to press himself up, when pain shot through his arm. He let out an involuntary moan and leaned back again.  
“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” Cas advised gently.   
Dean looked over and paused, giving him a guilty look. “Man, I'm so sorry- you found me like that.”  
“I'm not. I'm so glad I found you, Dean. You were losing a lot of blood.”  
They both just paused for a moment, looking at each other.   
Cas was actually very attractive; a fact that Dean had noticed when they first met but had not thought much of since. His dark hair, which must have only been one shade away from black, really complimented his light skin. His brows were thick and often scrunched down together, and below them his blue eyes were always bright and full of life, though the lines around them showed exhaustion very clearly. He had full, pink lips that were usually surrounded by a decent amount of stubble.   
Dean gave a small smile and leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he let his head droop back onto Cas' shoulder, enjoying the closeness and hoping that Cas thought he was sleeping. 


End file.
